


Wish On Everything

by Chash



Series: Exiles Among You [3]
Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Parent Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-17
Updated: 2016-12-17
Packaged: 2018-09-08 11:45:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,263
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8843455
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chash/pseuds/Chash
Summary: It's not as if Bellamy wanted anything bad to happen to his mother. All he wanted was to get custody of his little sister, so he'd know she was taken care of. And after eight years, he's basically given up all hope of that.Then his mother does die, and social services tells him he gets Octavia.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Fill for [aftertherockets](http://aftertherockets.tumblr.com/), who wanted Bellamy's POV for this verse. I decided I would just let it go as long as it wanted to be, so, you know. I hope you like text.

The weirdest thing about the social services call is how short it is. They verify his name and date of birth, and then they tell him his mother is dead and he's his sister's closest living relative, and ask if he would be willing to take her.

Bellamy has spent six years trying to get custody of his sister. He thought he'd tried everything. He called his mother. He emailed. He drove down to Baltimore and looked her up, only to not find her. He paid to talk to a lawyer about it, and got absolutely nothing. And now the government is just going to _give her to him_. No big deal.

Except that their mother is dead. It's not the kind of thing he can be _happy_ about. Someone had to die for him to get this.

Well, she didn't _have_ to. But she did. 

He counts fifteen long, deep breaths, and then he calls Clarke.

"You never call," she says, by way of greeting. "What's wrong?" He lets out a strangled noise, unable to quite control his vocal chords, and she says, "Shit. Seriously, what happened?"

He lets out another breath. "My mom died."

"Okay," she says, slow. "And?"

This time, the sound he makes is much closer to a laugh. Practically recognizable. "That can't be all?"

"What's happening to your sister?"

Honestly, he has no idea what he'd do without Clarke. He wouldn't know how to say this stuff. He needs someone else to fill in the blanks, and she knows every one. "I get her."

"Good. It would have been a pain to sue for custody."

"I don't think I can go to the funeral. It would be so expensive, and if I go, I don't have time to get stuff ready for her."

Clarke clucks her tongue. "Do you want to go?"

"No," he admits. "I wouldn't mind being there for O, but I'd have to take tomorrow off, and I already need to take Monday so she can get settled in." He rubs his face. "Fuck. I'm an asshole. My mother just died, I can take a few days off."

"When's the funeral?"

"Saturday."

There's a long pause, and then she says, "Do you want money?"

He falls back onto the couch, closes his eyes. Clarke's never offered him money before, and it's honestly tempting. If she helped out, he could fly down. Get a decent hotel. He and Octavia could come back together.

"I want you to tell me I'm not an asshole if I don't go," he finally says. "I don't even--fuck. I don't know who's organizing it or paying for it or anything. I don't know the first thing about her life. And I don't want to have to go there and pretend like I'm sad, or I knew her, or I'm not still fucking pissed at her for how she treated me."

"Don't go," she says, instantly. "But take Friday off."

"Why?"

"Because your mother died, and you get bereavement leave. It's three days for immediate family members. Take the day, talk to a lawyer about your exact legal standing as your sister's guardian, check in with her social worker if she's going to have one here, make sure you've got your life in order. You don't have to be sad about your mom, but you're about to get custody of a teenager. Take the time, do it right. Your classes will survive two days without you."

He takes five more long, deep breaths. "Yeah, okay. I'll take tomorrow and Monday."

"When's she coming?"

"I told social services I needed to check about the funeral. They said if I couldn't get down they'd have someone bring her. Probably Sunday."

"So, two days. That's not bad." He snorts, and he hears her smile when she corrects to, "Okay, yeah. It's bad. This is a disaster, and your life is going to be a wreck for a while. But in a good way, right?"

He closes his eyes. Two days, and Octavia will be here. That's all that matters. "The best way," he agrees.

"Do you want to tell Raven and Wells, or should I?"

"I'll tell them. We can do dinner tomorrow. And I'll probably need Raven's truck for, like--furniture. Fuck."

"You know, the money thing isn't just for flights," she says, soft. "This is a huge unexpected cost. If you need help with it, I'll help. If you need a loan, I'll give you a loan. If you want me to just throw cash at you, I'll make it rain."

"Yeah, that's always been a fantasy of mine," he says, but his voice is a little choked. "I don't know. I'll do some budgeting, see how it looks. I've got savings."

"Just let me know." She pauses. "Do you want me to come over?"

He closes his eyes, lets himself think about it. It would be nice to see her. It's always nice. But he has so much to do. "Tomorrow after school?" he says. "That's about when I'll be going out of my mind with stress."

"I'll bring alcohol." Another pause, and then she says, "This is going to sound weird, but I'm really happy for you. It's going to be a huge mess and it'll probably suck for a while, but--you're getting your sister back, Bellamy."

His mouth goes dry with the sheer, enormous joy of it. It is, objectively, an incredibly fucked up situation. She might not even want to see him. But--fuck. He'll get to see her. He'll get to make sure she's eating okay, that she's taken care of. He'll know she has a roof over her head and people who love her and care about her.

It's going to be okay. It's going to be _good_. If it's the last thing he does, it's going to be good.

"Yeah," he says. "Yeah."

*

Wells brings the truck over the next morning.

"What do you need help with?" he asks. He's wearing a flannel shirt over a white t-shirt and jeans, which is always a little funny to Bellamy. He has a task-oriented attitude towards his wardrobe that always vaguely reminds Bellamy of a Ken doll. This is Moving Day Wells, in stark contrast to his usual weekday Businessman Wells.

"I'm really fine."

"You're giving her my old room, right? The office. That desk is huge. You don't want to move it alone. And there's a lot of other junk in there. Raven said if I let you let me leave before lunch, she'd come over herself. And you don't even want to know what Clarke said."

Of course he does, but the very thought of asking makes him feel guilty. He's about to be someone's legal guardian. He has more important things to worry about than his crush.

"I forget you've actually got muscles under your dress shirts," he says instead, and Wells flexes for him obligingly. Bellamy even manages a wolf-whistle.

It's so normal.

"So, how old is your sister?" Wells asks, and just like that, everything is lopsided again.

"Fourteen," he says. "Her birthday is in March, so she should be in ninth grade, assuming she didn't get held back or anything." He lets out a breath. "She was six when I left."

Wells claps him on the shoulder. "You're a high-school teacher. If anyone knows how to deal with teenagers, it's you."

He snorts. "You would think."

"You have furniture yet?"

"Not yet. I'm going to keep it pretty simple, until--I want it to be ready for her when she gets here in case she's too wiped to do anything but sleep, but I don't want to buy a ton of stuff she won't like, you know? It's her room. I don't want to fill it up with shit she'll hate."

"Yeah, I get that." He nods once. "So, what's the plan?"

They get the room cleared out, and since Wells seems unwilling to leave, Bellamy also lets him come to the furniture store and help him test out beds, bouncing around until they find a nice, unobjectionable wooden frame and a firm mattress. After it's put together, he buys Wells lunch and sends him home, mostly because having someone else around is making him itchy. It feels like he's fucking up, but having Wells there to tell him he wasn't was not actually helpful at all.

He gets a plain dresser and some bookshelves at Target, gets them put together and set up on his own. Tomorrow, he'll hit up the bookstore, or--probably find a used bookstore. She doesn't _need_ the shelves filled, but it'll going to be awkward for a while, between the two of them. It might be awkward _forever_. At least if she has books, she has something concrete to do. And she always liked reading, when--

When she was _six_. Fuck.

The room still looks too empty when he's done, so he finds the spare bathmat that he keeps in the closet in case Atalanta rage-pees on his usual one when he displeases her, and puts it in front of the bed in a fit of inspiration.

It still looks--basic. Not quite clinical, but close, the plain blue sheets, the neutral comforter. It doesn't look like a person's room, but--he thinks it gets the message across well enough. _I want you here. I made you this_.

Honestly, after that, there is absolutely nothing more he can do to the room today, so he goes downstairs and collapses face-down on the couch until Clarke shows up. Like a fucking _adult_.

She never stays late on Friday, so he at least doesn't have to wait long. He hears the knock and yells, "It's open!" and in a minute Clarke is next to him, rubbing her fingers through his hair.

"If this is anyone but Clarke, you're incredibly creepy," he says, and she laughs, soft.

"How are you doing?"

"Honestly? I don't even know. I can't--it doesn't feel real."

"Yeah." Her fingers are gentle, soothing, and he exhales. "Did you get her room done?"

"Mostly. I'm going to go get some books tomorrow. And then--she should do decorations herself, right? I don't know what she likes. I--Clarke, I don't know anything about her."

"You'll find out."

He rolls over to look at her, and she smiles down at him. "Will you come on Sunday? To the mall. Just in case she's--I don't know. She might need bras or something."

"I'm pretty sure she has her own bras," says Clarke. "But yeah, of course I'll come." She worries her lip. "Do you want me to come get her with you?"

He closes his eyes. "No, that's okay. You can just meet us."

"Sure. Whatever you need." Her hand goes back to massaging his scalp. "I know people say that a lot, but I mean it. Literally anything, any time. All you have to do is ask. Octavia too."

He swallows. "Can I just lie on the couch for the next hour and you pet me?"

"Can I put on Netflix? I'm going to get bored."

"Yeah. Something funny, thanks."

At some point, he falls asleep, thankfully, given how poorly he slept the night before. He dreams about getting stuck in traffic on his way to the bus station and Octavia being gone by the time he gets there, about being told if he can't even pick her up on time, there's no way he's a fit guardian.

But when he wakes up, he's still on his couch and Clarke is still rubbing his hair, and the immediate future feels survivable again.

"Thanks," he says.

"You have nice hair," she tells him, smiling. "I don't mind."

*

He gets to the bus station an hour and a half early and doesn't know what to do with himself. He can't concentrate on anything for more than a minute or so, and he ends up sitting in an uncomfortable chair playing Bejeweled Blitz on his phone and texting Clarke between rounds. He got a text from the social worker saying they're on schedule, and he keeps going back to that, this stark, black-and-white (or, well, white-and-blue, given it's a text message) evidence that his sister is on her way to him.

By twenty minutes before their projected arrival time, even sitting still is too much, and he prowls around the sketchy Albany bus station until he feels like it's not weird to go outside and wait. There's something about being a twenty-four-year-old guy picking up a teenage girl that makes him feel inherently creepy, even though he's here because the government has cleared him as her legal guardian. He belongs here.

He's here for his sister.

All he knows about the social worker is that her name is Anya Hartman and she likes phone calls about as much as he does. He has a better idea of what Octavia should look like, except that she's gone through puberty since he last saw her. She probably still has dark hair and bright eyes, but--that's plenty of teenage girls.

Maybe he should have made one of those signs. _Octavia Blake_. Just so she'd know someone was waiting for her.

The buzz of his phone in his pocket nearly gives him a heart attack; he can't quite make out anyone's faces, and he thinks there's something wrong with his eyes, or his brain. It's just too much.

Anya's calling, of course. 

"Hi, Anya?" he says, casting around. "Are you guys--"

A girl waves at him, and if Anya responds, he doesn't hear it. He's vaguely aware of her behind his sister; he can see the glow of her phone, but it's periphery. It's nothing, because that's Octavia. Her hair is straight and dark brown, down past her shoulders, and she's wearing a coat that looks a couple sizes too big and faded jeans. The hat looks home-made, and he wonders if she did it herself, if Aurora taught it to knit or did it herself, or if they just found it at Goodwill.

He's not quite aware that he's moving, but he makes it through the crowd somehow, easily, and then he's gathering her up. She's small and huge at the same time, so much bigger than he remembers, but with a little more growing to do.

 _Fourteen_. Eight years he'll never know about. Eight years just--lost.

"Hey, O," he breathes, and he hears something catch in her throat, and the start of something like crying. 

He's pretty close himself.

"Hey," he says again, once he's composed himself, and adds, stupidly, "I'm really sorry about Mom."

The spell is broken and she jerks back, anger flashing across her face. It's what you say, in these circumstances. It's _polite_. But he knows better. Their mother's death is a lot of things, and he's not actually that sorry about it. He thinks Octavia probably isn't either.

"Not sorry enough to come to the funeral," she says.

He reminds himself of Clarke telling him that he's not an asshole for staying here. He only had so long to get ready for her; he needed the time.

Even the time he spent just lying on his couch, letting Clarke pet him. He doesn't know what he would have done without that. It was incredibly important.

"I made a decision," he tells Octavia, willing her to believe him. "It would have cost me at least three hundred bucks to get there, between the bus and a hotel and--I decided we needed the money for stuff for you." It's a lie, of course. Clarke would have covered all this and more. She has money her dad left her. She would have helped. But he can't tell her the truth, as shitty as it feels to start lying to her right off the bat. "For your room and--whatever. I haven't bought anything except the bed and a dresser, I figured we could go and get stuff after this. I borrowed my friend's truck, so we can--"

Octavia's eyes are the same hazel green as always, and she's watching him sharply, like she knows this has nothing to do with anything. It's important, but it's not the real question she wants answered. 

The real question is why it took him so long to get her, and why he waited two more days to do it, after all these years.

"I'm sorry I didn't come," he says. "I didn't know how to come, even if I wasn't--"

"Excuse me." He'd almost forgotten about Anya, but she's looking around, anxious to be moving. "Sorry to interrupt, but I need you to sign some things, Bellamy."

"Yeah, of course. O, are you hungry? Thirsty? Do you need anything?"

She's not looking at him, so he doesn't quite hear her response.

"What?" he asks.

She meets his eyes again, and he doesn't know what he's supposed to do with her expression. It's just--it's too much. "My name is Octavia," she says, and even after eight years apart, he's never felt so far away from her.

They're off to a great start.

*

Bellamy has been in love with Clarke for long enough that he's basically used to the flood of warmth and happiness he feels at the sight of her, the instantaneous joy of seeing _his person_. Which is a little irrational, when he's never told her how he feels and they are, officially, best friends, but if he had any rational control over how he felt about her, he probably wouldn't be in love with her in the first place.

The point is, he always likes seeing Clarke, but seeing Clarke waiting for them at the mall is such a relief that he nearly staggers with it.

Not that it's been _bad_ , so far. Mostly it's been basically like he imagined, which is upsetting in its own way. He thinks of himself as a pessimist, but he's so _good_ at being a pessimist that the worst-case scenarios he comes up with tend to be much, much worse than anything that actually happens to him.

This isn't quite as bad as he feared, but his sister really _does_ blame him for leaving her and doesn't know how to feel about him either. She's not screaming and demanding that he give up custody, at least. He had that nightmare last night.

But now Clarke's here. He's got backup. 

She checks in on him first, a quick once-over that he doesn't know if he passes or not, and then she turns her attention to Octavia. "Hi, you must be Bellamy's sister. He talks about you all the time."

O--Octavia--looks genuinely startled. "How?"

Clarke shrugs one shoulder. "It's part of who he is." She flashes him a sly grin. "He's a big brother. He can't help it."

"Shut up, Clarke," he says, automatic, and her smile widens.

"You are." She sobers, turns her attention back to Octavia. "I'm really sorry about your mom."

It's like a _disease_. She's not sorry. It's just what she's supposed to say. It's reflexive, like saying _ow_ when something hits you, even if it doesn't actually hurt.

"Thanks," says Octavia, shutting off again, not looking at either of them.

He's sort of rooting for the earth to open up and swallow all three of them when Clarke claps and says, "So, stuff! I hear the best way to deal with pain is to fill the empty void of your life with stuff."

He chokes on the air. "You know you're actually the last person in the world I would ask to give me a pep talk," he tells her.

She looks so pleased with herself he can't even feel bad. "And yet you asked me to come help. Your brother really doesn't have many friends," she adds.

Octavia looks kind of cautiously amused, so he goes with it. "Quality over quantity."

"Aww, you think I'm _quality_."

He feels himself flush a little, which means it's time to dial back. Inept flirting in front of his estranged baby sister is just--no. A world of no. "I meant Raven and Wells," he says, and turns the conversation back to Octavia. It's neither subtle nor graceful, but Clarke follows his lead, takes control of the trip. He's never been particularly good at this kind of shopping, the kind where you're buying things you don't need, just to have them. 

He hasn't done it, he doesn't think, since he left Octavia. Not really. He has stuff in his place, but not because he went out and bought it. Even the cat, he didn't _plan_ to get her. He just found her stray in the park and kept her.

But Clarke knows how to shop like money doesn't matter, and she knows how to have this conversation with Octavia. When Octavia doesn't know what she wants, Clarke has suggestions, ideas, and questions, and between the two of them, they manage to come up with all sorts of things Octavia doesn't need at all.

It's awesome.

Plus, not to brag, but she doesn't want a new rug. She _likes_ the bathmat. 

He's doing something right.

He doesn't get nervous again-- _really_ nervous, not just the background anxiety he's had basically ever since he got the call--until they're going back to his place. He likes his place, but it's not particularly exciting. And it's hard not to think about all its faults when someone new comes in. It's not that large, it could use another coat of paint. His couch could be bigger, his kitchen could be nicer.

"Yeah," he says, rubbing the back of his neck. "This is it. There's a cat around somewhere. She's kind of shy, but once she figures out we're not leaving, she'll get bored and wander back in. Kitchen's back there, bathroom here. This is my room, and you're in here."

Octavia looks around, nodding, and then puts her bag down in the corner. "It's nice. Thanks."

"Cool. You can unload your clothes, if you want. I think the desk needs assembly."

"I'll get the posters framed so we can hang them once you've got your clothes unpacked," says Clarke. "And the pillows arranged."

"How much arranging do pillows really need?" he asks.

"An artist would never ask that question. This is why you're making the desk. You suck at interior design."

"You act like it's a burn telling me I'm not an artist," he tells her. "I know I'm not an artist. You're not a history teacher."

Octavia smiles a little faintly, listening to the two of them, and once she's got her clothes put away, she and Clarke do get the room set up to her specifications. It feels--okay. Still a little awkward, still new, but it _is_ new. It's not like they're just going to magically be a family again. Not right away.

But it's a good start.

"How much are you freaking out right now?" Clarke asks, once Octavia's gone to bed. It's early, but he'd probably want to be alone too, if he was her. She deserves a break. "Scale of one to ten."

"Four?" he guesses. "I don't know. It went mostly okay." He swallows hard. "She asked why I never called."

"What did you tell her?"

"I tried." He rubs his face. "Fuck, I _did_ try."

"Yeah, you did." She scoots closer, bumping her shoulder against his. "It's going to be awkward, Bellamy. At least for a while. But after it's awkward, it's going to be fine. You know why?"

"No idea."

"Because she's wrong," says Clarke, and he lets out a shocked laugh. "She _is_. She thinks you stopped caring about her, and you didn't. And, trust me, it's _really obvious_ you didn't."

He leans his head on hers, taking the comfort she's offering. "How much did I talk about her?"

"Not that much. Just--in a normal way. _My sister loved this_ and _Octavia did this_. It never sounded like she wasn't part of your life. And she's gonna get that too, Bellamy. I promise."

He closes his eyes. "She's so grown up. I missed--god. I missed eight years."

"Yeah, I know. But you've got the rest of her life, right?"

"Yeah." He lets himself press his lips to her hair. "Thank you. For today. Everything."

"You don't have to thank me for this. Really. It's--" He can't quite read her tone. "I couldn't not," she settles on. "You need help. She's your sister. It's just--I'd never be anywhere else."

"Oh," he says. "Well, uh--"

She pokes him. "You're trying not to say thanks, aren't you?"

"Yeah." He lets out a breath. "I'm really glad you feel that way."

"Better," she says. "I'm glad she's home."

 _Home_ , he thinks. She's home. "That too, yeah."

*

They're meeting with the social worker at one, but they need to pick up his car first, so he figures if Octavia isn't up by eleven, he'll have to try to wake her himself. She might have locked the door, but he assumes pounding and yelling is still acceptable. If TV has taught him anything, it's that pounding on doors and yelling is a vital part of raising teenagers. He's so ready.

But Octavia comes down only a few minutes after he had to kick Atalanta out, so he assumes even she couldn't sleep through an angry cat yowling outside her door.

"Hey," he says, unable to keep his smile in check. She's _here_. She's staying. He got her back. "Good morning. Did you sleep okay?"

Her smile is hesitant, small, but genuine, and she joins him on the couch. "Yeah."

"Cool, I'm glad. I've got cereal and stuff, or I can make pancakes or french toast. I don't know what you like doing for breakfast. Do you drink coffee? Are you too young to drink coffee? I tried to google if you were too young and then I realized I didn't care. If you want to drink coffee, you can."

She makes a face. "Coffee's gross."

"Good, yeah, keep thinking that. I think you probably shouldn't drink it. Other food?"

"What kind of cereal?"

"Multi-Grain Cheerios." He pauses, but--it seems stupid to not say it. "And I bought Berry Berry Kix, in case you still--in case."

It happens in _seconds_ , so suddenly that he barely has time to react. Octavia's face breaks open, like a storm cloud starting to pour, and then she's sobbing against his shirt, these horrible, wracking sobs that make him want to find everyone who's ever hurt her and make them pay.

But he's pretty sure it's mostly himself and their mother, and their mother is already dead. And he's busy. She doesn't really need him to kick his own ass right now.

Instead, he rubs soothing circles on her back, smooths her hair, murmurs words not even he's listening to until she quiets, until she's just sniffling instead of sobbing.

She pulls back, wiping her nose. "Sorry."

"It's okay," he says, and then corrects to, "I don't mind." It's not really _okay_. But he thinks it was probably good. Sometimes crying is necessary. He gives her a quick squeeze around the shoulders. "Come on, I'll make pancakes. Do you want tea or something? You got hot chocolate yesterday, but I don't have any."

"Tea is good." She sniffles. "I'm going to take a shower? While you're cooking?"

"Yeah, go ahead. It's pretty easy to figure out. Shouldn't have any trouble."

"I think I can operate a shower, yeah." She's halfway out of the room when she calls, "And change your shirt, it's gross now!" 

He feels himself grin, huge and unsteady. "Whose fault is that?" 

When he checks the clock, it's just before ten-thirty. Clarke has a free period.

 _She cried all over me_ , he texts. _I think in a good way_.

 _It feels weird to say congratulations to that_ , she replies. _But congratulations. I knew you could make your sister cry if you tried hard enough._ There's a pause, and then, _What's your schedule look like today? Social worker at one, right?_

_Yeah. Raven and Wells before that, store after, and then an afternoon of me having no idea what the fuck I'm doing._

_That's every afternoon_ , she says. _You'll be fine. I have kids staying after, but if you want me to come for dinner, lmk._

In Bellamy's ideal world, Clarke would come for dinner every night, but he should probably figure out how to deal with his sister without her. Besides, he doesn't want Octavia to feel like Clarke is always around. Even if she is around a lot. She thought they were dating, which is a really good indication he should tone down basically everything about how he interacts with Clarke.

It's a nice goal that he will not achieve.

 _I'll see how I do with her alone today_ , he tells Clarke. _Sorry, you have to feed yourself._

_If I get scurvy it's your fault. Keep me posted._

As expected, the parts of the day he had planned go pretty well. Octavia seems to like Raven and Wells, which makes sense, because everyone likes Wells, and Raven grew up a lot like they did, so he figured Octavia would like her too. And she seems to like Clarke. So that's three people she can rely on, three people who aren't him. And she likes her new social worker too, so that's another one. When he asks her what she wants at the store, she has opinions, and they get stuff she likes.

She says his cereal is fine, and that makes him smile like a fucking idiot.

And then, suddenly, they're home again, and he doesn't have a plan anymore.

Not that his sister probably _wants_ him to plan her days for her. She's fourteen. She's basically a self-sufficient human. She doesn't need an event coordinator.

"So, uh--weirdly, I have no idea what teenage girls do, apart from complain to me about how I'm giving them too much homework," he offers.

Octavia must be thinking along the same lines he is, because she says. "It's not your job to keep me occupied." Then she adds, "I'm used to entertaining myself," and he feels shitty all over again. She's been a self-sufficient human for years and years. Probably since he left. 

"Yeah, I guess you would be." His licks his lips, figures he might as well start with--not quite ground rules. Guidelines, maybe. "I'll be home more than she was, I'm pretty sure. But you don't have to feel obligated to hang out with me. I've got, uh--some video games? Netflix is set up, Hulu. Basic cable. I can work through anything, so feel free to do whatever you want. I'm going to be grading essays. If you get hungry, there are snacks. I usually start dinner around 6:30."

"Okay," she says, and disappears into her room. He's not expecting to see her again, but she's back only a minute later, with _Alanna: The First Adventure_ , and he has to smile. He'd had to go a lot of places to get all those books, and he was really hoping she'd notice the effort.

But he doesn't want to make it weird by saying that, so instead he goes with, "I'm not sure those were totally appropriate for your age level, honestly. She starts having sex later. Also, don't date guys who are hitting on you when you're eleven and they're like twenty."

"Thanks for the tip." She pauses, looks down. "You read them?"

He hadn't expected _that_ to be awkward, but of course it is. He did like the books for their own sake, but--that wasn't _why_. "I figured you might have, so--if we saw each other again, we'd have something to talk about."

"When did you think that was going to happen?"

She sounds less combative than yesterday. If anything, she sounds _young_ , and a little lost. So he just pulls up his inbox, shows her all the messages he sent that never got replies, every time he told her he was going to be in town or could be in town or wanted to be in town. It's not all he did; he swears he tried everything he could think of, calling the school and talking to lawyers and sometimes just driving around Baltimore, but--none of it worked.

He didn't get to her.

"She never wrote back?" Octavia asks, soft.

"No. I tried calling a few times, but I guess she--I don't know if she changed your number or just stopped paying for the landline. She picked up the first time, but then--" The memory still stings, but he tries not to let it show. "She said you weren't home, told me it wasn't any of my business what you guys did. I know--look, I don't even know how much it sucked for you. I know she was a shitty mom, and I know she didn't look out for you. And I'm sorry. I tried, but that doesn't fix it. I did everything I could, but I'm sorry I couldn't do more."

"It's not your fault," she tells him. It even sounds like she means it.

The moment feels too heavy, so he laughs a little. As best he can. "Yeah, I know. Fuck asshole parents, right?"

"Yeah." He watches her fingers, drumming the spine of the book, and doesn't reach out for her with some effort. She's not sitting close enough for it to be anything but awkward, and it's her call, really. If she wants a hug, she needs to ask. "It wasn't that bad, most of the time," she offers, soft. "Just--lonely. Not how it was supposed to be." He can hear her swallow. "I always thought you'd come."

"I know. I thought so too."

"So," she says, with way too much pep. "You read this. Is it good? Should I keep going?"

"Yeah, I think you'll like it," he says. "And the rest of the series is good too. I think you'll probably like Alanna best. I was into Daine and Beka." He grins. "They're the poor ones."

"How many of these books are there?"

"Uh, five series, like--three or four books in each. Two in Aly, I guess."

"And you read all of them?" she asks, dubious.

"I like reading."

"You're such a nerd, Bell," she says, and settles in to read with her feet in his lap.

He texts Clarke a picture, and she replies with a bunch of heart and confetti emoji.

That seems about right.

*

It isn't actually difficult to fall into a routine. It's still awkward, of course, but it's not awkward all the time. Octavia fits into school without too much difficulty. Monty Green and Jasper Jordan take her under their wing, and they wouldn't have been his _first_ choice, maybe, but he knows they're good kids. She spends a lot of time in Clarke's room, which is nice, and if Clarke taking her home adds fuel to all those rumors that the two of them are dating, he can't actually bring himself to care.

And, honestly? It _does_ feel a little different with Clarke. In a good way.

It wasn't as if he thought all his friends were going to abandon him once he got Octavia. Nothing like that. But it would be stupid to think that having a fourteen-year-old dependent wouldn't change his life, and that it wouldn't change his dynamics with people. He didn't think they'd leave him, but he thought they might want to hang out less, do things without him because they didn't want his sister tagging along. If they wanted to do things without him, he'd understand.

And he's sure they do, but they also do plenty of things with him. And Clarke might actually hang out _more_. She takes Octavia home from school a few times a week, and when she does, she usually just _stays_ , sitting on the couch and doing her own work while Octavia hangs out with her or doesn't. She comes by on weekends to play video games and takes Octavia shopping for clothes so he doesn't have to.

He knew she was helping. Helping a lot, even, enough that he felt vaguely guilty, had to tamp down on the temptation to thank her every time she left. Because this--it's not normal. It's _not_. She's doing so much for him. It's unbelievable how much. He doesn't know what he'd do, if she wasn't here, and he always feels like that's cheating, somehow. Like he's getting away with something he doesn't deserve, because he doesn't know if he could really handle Octavia by himself.

It's something he has trouble articulating to her, in part because of her moratorium on him thanking her. It's incomprehensible to him, that this could be something he's supposed to take for granted.

He assumes he can at least make an exception that Thanksgiving, both because it's a holiday about showing appreciation for the people you love and because Clarke is, as always, drunk and overemotional.

"Hey," he says, nudging her into a sitting position on the couch. Raven and Octavia are doing the dishes while Wells puts away all the leftovers, so it's just him and her in the living room. There's a fire in the fireplace and he's had just enough wine that there's a warm, pleasant film over the evening, like everything is covered in soft flannel.

"Hey," says Clarke, giving him a sleepy, goofy smile. "Happy Thanksgiving."

"You too."

Once he's seated, she loses her interest in vertical integrity and settles with her head in his lap, eyes closed and content.

"Are you going to fall asleep on me?" he asks, amused.

"It's tradition." She yawns. "This has been a really good year, right?"

"Yeah." He could kiss her. Right now, it even feels like she'd be happy. He can picture it so clearly, leaning in and pressing his mouth against hers, the way she'd melt under him, the taste of her smile. 

There's a clang from the kitchen, and then the sound of Raven swearing, loudly. Clarke laughs, and he does too.

"I don't know what I'd do without you," he tells her. "God, I'm so happy I got Octavia, but--if I didn't have you helping me out, I wouldn't know what to do. Just--having you to talk to. Having you to pick her up and help her with clothes and--I know you buy her pads or tampons or whatever and I'm just--I know I'm not supposed to thank you, but--"

Part of him hopes she fell asleep, honestly, just so that she wouldn't have heard the way his voice cracked, but she just pats his arm.

"It's been a good year for me too. Because of Octavia. And you. I'm with you, Bellamy. I'd never be anywhere else."

She does fall asleep after that, and he just stays on the couch, watching her, until it's time to go.

"Look," says Octavia. "I know I'm fourteen and you're an adult, but I'm telling you, girls don't do that unless they want to date you."

It's feeling more and more true, which is simultaneously terrifying and the best thing ever. "Which part?" he asks.

Octavia thinks it over. "Basically every single thing she's done since I met her."

He reviews their interactions and inclines his head. "Yeah, that sounds about right."

*

The part of it that's hardest to believe is, honestly, that Clarke really wants to be _involved_. Because she's not, not exactly. She helps, and he appreciates it, and she hangs out, but he doesn't really think of her as an authority figure on his level. She's a resource, not a family member, and he wouldn't blame her for not wanting to make the switch. And she'd have to; Clarke doesn't know how to not get involved, and if she was dating him, she'd be--not quite a parent, but not just the kind of cool aunt role she's been in so far.

And then, Lincoln happens.

Objectively speaking, Bellamy knows Lincoln is in no way a big deal. If you'd asked him to describe what he'd want, for his sister's crush/boyfriend/whatever, the description he would have come up with wouldn't have been far off from Lincoln: a nice, conscientious, intelligent guy, a little on the quiet side, who's always seemed to treat everyone with respect.

That being said, his visceral reaction to the way Lincoln is smiling at his sister is hard to fight with his rational mind. His sister is _fourteen_ , and it's been less that two months since her mother died. Which, okay, he's pretty sure their mom's death did more good for Octavia's health and well-being than her being alive would have, but _still_. The sight of them together in Clarke's room is too much.

"It's after five, Octavia," he says, and it comes out sharper than it should. It's just her, Lincoln, and Clarke left hanging out, and all three of them snap their attention to him instantly. He checks himself, makes sure his voice is at least mostly friendly when he continues, "Hey, Lincoln. I think you missed the bus."

His expression is pleasant, like it always is. "Oh, I have a car. But thank you, Mr. Blake. I do need to get going." His face softens when he looks at Octavia, and Bellamy feels himself bristle again. "Let me know if you need any more help. I'm always happy to do what I can."

Octavia _beams_ at him. Bellamy hasn't seen her look so unreservedly happy since she moved in with him. He _should_ be glad, but he's not really sure how to be. 

It's bad.

"I really appreciate it," Octavia says. "Thank you so much."

"Like I said, I'm happy to do it. I'll see you tomorrow, Ms. Griffin, Mr. Blake," he waves as he goes, and Octavia starts gathering her stuff, aggressively unconcerned.

Clarke is watching him, cautious, and that makes him feel even antsier.

It's stupid, but he can't help it. "What's he helping you with?" he demands.

"Don't be an idiot," says Clarke. Her tone is even, her gaze steady and sharp.

"Geometry," says Octavia.

"Lincoln's the best," Clarke adds.

"He's in my first-period AP US History class," Bellamy snaps. "He's a _junior_." Sixteen is way too old for her.

Clarke shakes her head, heaves a dramatic sigh. "One of those asshole juniors who helps your sister with her geometry. How dare he."

His face heats up. "I don't need your commentary on this."

She meets his eyes again, just as fierce. "I think you probably do."

His heart stops for a second, because--fuck, of course he does. If Clarke thinks he shouldn't be upset about this, he _wants_ her to talk him out of it. They both know he's wrong, and he needs someone who's willing to tell him.

He doesn't want to do this alone. He wants Clarke there with him. And it's kind of unbelievable that she wants the same thing. That she'll fight him on it.

Octavia's voice breaks the moment. "I don't need either of your commentary on this," she says, which he'll admit they deserve. "Are we going? We can go. Sorry I got distracted. _Studying_. For my final."

He doesn't have a good answer for that, and finally just turns his attention to Clarke. Her posture says she was spoiling for a fight and doesn't know what to do, now that she didn't get it. "You coming over tonight, Clarke?"

He watches her shake herself out of it. "Nope." Her smile is just a little too cheerful and perfect. "Wells has a thing, so I'm doing Netflix and chill with Raven."

He nods. "I can't tell if you don't know what that means, or you and Raven have upgraded your relationship. Either way, rock on, have fun."

"Do you want to come, Octavia?" she adds, her expression easing a little when she moves her attention away from him.

"You can't actually Netflix and chill with my sister. Seriously, I'm drawing a line, Clarke."

She rolls her eyes. "Fine, I'm offering her a girls' night so she doesn't have to hear you awkwardly lecturing her about boys. You know, if she wants."

"We might as well get it over with," Octavia says, with a put-upon sigh. "But I'll call you if I can't deal with him."

"As usual."

"You guys know I can hear you, right?" he grumbles, like it's not the best exchange he's heard in his life. Clarke is--she's _in this_. She's with them. All the way. "Have fun possibly making out with Raven."

"Have fun being a weirdo. See you tomorrow, Octavia."

In a way, he's been lucky. For all he and Octavia have been awkward and a little uncomfortable, she hasn't shown signs of rebellion, not really. He hasn't set many boundaries, but she hasn't tried to push them either. He didn't actually lay down many rules when she got to the house, and she never made him feel like he needed to. Once she settles in, he expects to have her start to try him, to come home later than she says she will, to not call when he asks her to, but that's always been something for the future. Something she wasn't ready for yet.

He hadn't thought about dating, but he thinks some part of him filed that away too. He feels like he's an asshole for even considering his romantic life, given how chaotic his life is, so he thought Octavia wouldn't be thinking about hers either.

It was stupid of him, and it was stupider of him to be a dick about it, because--god, if having a crush on Lincoln makes her happy, he needs to get the fuck over himself.

Which is why what he finally offers is, "I guess I just didn't think you were interested in dating yet."

Octavia huffs. "You're really making a big deal about me talking to a guy about geometry, you know. He's always in Clarke's room after school, when he doesn't have practice. Clarke's right, you're a weirdo."

"I remember being sixteen," he says, because it feels like something an adult would say, unlike _I saw the way he was looking at you_. 

"Yeah, you were a weirdo when you were sixteen too."

There's no denying that. "I'm just saying. I guess we haven't really talked about, uh--"

"I know how babies are made, Bell."

"It's not the mechanics I'm worried about. Sex ed sucks, and it's not like Mom was a good role model. I'm not saying don't do it," he adds quickly, before she can object. He doesn't care that her mom had a lot of sex, just that her taste in guys was awful. "That's the whole problem with sex ed. It's all, here's how it works, but don't, because puritans and gross societal shit and--all this baggage. And that's fucking stupid. If you want to do it, you're going to, what we should be teaching you is how to know that you're ready, and how to be smart, and how to make good choices. For the record, I think you're too young. But that's not my call. And I--" 

There is literally no good way to ask his fourteen-year-old sister if she's a virgin. He wasn't, at her age, but that doesn't mean anything. He made some shitty choices, at her age.

Luckily, she figures it out "It wouldn't be my first time."

It's not like that's terrible, or anything. He just wishes they could have been having this conversation a few years ago, when everything was still theoretical. "Yeah," he says, offering her a small smile."I figured maybe. Look, I--I just want you to be safe and happy, okay? Just because you've done it once or twice or--however much you do it, that doesn't mean you have to keep doing it. You should be--Lincoln's a good kid. But two years is a lot, when you're fourteen. Don't let him--"

"He's helping me with geometry." She pauses and her voice is so small it breaks his heart when she says, "I'm just a kid he knows, okay? It's nothing."

He can gossip just this once. "Sure. I saw you guys. I know flirting when I see it."

She huffs out a laugh. "Keep telling yourself that. How's it going with Clarke?"

Fuck, he needs to talk to Clarke about this too, doesn't he? He owes her. "See if I ever try to talk to you about this shit again," he tells Octavia, in lieu of answering.

"Please don't," she says, kneejerk, but adds, "Thanks, Bell," before he can get upset.

"I'll try not to be--me. About it," he offers. It's the best he can do. "But you can talk to Clarke or Raven if you can't talk to me. We've got you."

He didn't expect to believe it himself, let alone have Octavia believe it, but somehow, here they are. Bellamy and Octavia Blake, together, surrounded by people who love them.

She's got a group project she's working on for English on Saturday, so he drops her off at the library at ten and then goes into town to the bakery and gets half a dozen of Clarke's favorite cupcakes. He texts to make sure she's awake, and when she opens the door she's wearing a tank top and pajama pants, all warm and sleepy and beautiful.

"Hey," she says. "What's up?"

"I'm an asshole, so I got you cupcakes," he says, and offers the bag.

She accepts it and steps out of the way to let him in. "If you got me cupcakes every time you were an asshole, I'd never be able to eat them all. Where's Octavia?"

"Library. She's texting me when she's done, so I was just going to hang out here. It's closer than going home."

"Yeah, you really want to avoid that extra five minutes in car," she teases, but she sounds pleased. "You want coffee? Are these breakfast cupcakes?"

"All cupcakes are breakfast cupcakes. And coffee would be great."

He gets off his shoes and coat and follows her into the kitchen. He loves Clarke's house. She bought with money her father left her when he died, and it's basically a giant mess all the time, but in a way that feels so lived in it makes him ache. They moved around a lot when he was a kid, and something about Clarke's house, the chaotic mess of things that would be so hard to pack up, is comforting to him.

She's not going anywhere. It would be such a huge pain.

"I'm sorry about yesterday," he tells her. "I was being stupid, and I shouldn't have taken it out on you."

She smiles a little. "I was baiting you. I pretty sure you'd rather take it out on me than Octavia. Or, god forbid, Lincoln. And you weren't even that bad."

"Yeah, but I'm not allowed to thank you for distracting me," he teases. "So these are officially apology cupcakes, not gratitude cupcakes."

She laughs. "Don't exploit the loophole, Bellamy."

"Seriously, I really wasn't ready for that."

"Did you guys talk about it?"

"Yeah, some. Just--I don't know. I assumed she wouldn't be thinking about that stuff yet. Not because she's too young," he adds. "But I figured she'd still be--Mom only just died."

"Yeah. But that can help, too. It's nice to have a distraction. And as distractions go, Lincoln's a good one. He's a good guy. Which I know you know," she adds, before he can say it. "I'm just going to keep reminding you."

"Yeah, that can't hurt." He leans against the counter. "If it makes her happy, I'll drive her to every fucking date, honestly."

"He has a car, so you don't even have to drive her."

"Let me be a little bit of a control freak, okay?" he grumbles, and she laughs. She adds a dash of milk to his coffee without asking, and gives him one of the chocolate cupcakes instead of a vanilla.

He'd honestly marry her tomorrow, if he just knew how.

"Are you going to make him let you pick him up too?" she asks. "And then they sit in the back, but with the middle seat between them?"

"This is the stuff I missed out on growing up in cities," he says. "I just took the bus to dates."

"I know all the tricks."

He clears his throat. "That's, uh--that's the other thing."

She raises her eyebrows. "Do you need me to teach you how to date? Do you not know?"

"Shut up, I'm being serious." He lets out a breath. "Look, I said--I told you I don't need your commentary, and you said I did, and you're right. If you think I'm being an idiot, I want to know. If you think I'm fucking up, tell me. If you've got commentary, I always want to hear it. I don't promise to always _remember_ that I want to hear it, but--I do. And if I forget that again, I'll buy you more cupcakes."

She laughs, but she's looking a little emotional too. Like it's a big deal for her too. "That was probably the nicest speech anyone's ever given me," she says. "But the cupcakes don't hurt either."

He lets out a short, relieved laugh. "Well, I wanted to cover all my bases."

*

It takes him a few days, but he figures out an actual plan to get a date with Clarke. Or at least to ask her out, which is the first step to getting a date with her. Octavia's going to the movies with her friends on Saturday night, which means he has no plans and no dependents. If he were just a little less nervous about the whole thing, he'd ask her before the day itself, but he doesn't think he can actually deal with _planning_ a date with her. Besides, if she says yes on Thursday to a date on Saturday, the whole plan falls apart, because he won't make it to Saturday before he drags her off somewhere to make out.

If she says no, of course, he gets his heart broken, but that's going to happen whenever he asks. It's inevitable. The timing on that really doesn't matter.

Of course, just because he hasn't asked her yet doesn't mean he isn't worrying about it. He's worrying about it non-stop. 

He can't be _sure_ he was worrying about it so much that he accidentally deletes his grades, but it doesn't really matter what caused that one, because once it happens, that derails basically everything else in his brain. By some miracle, he doesn't swear in front of his last-period class, and Raven replies promptly to his _oh god my computer ate my grades please help me_ email, and he has to believe she will. If it was just tests, he wouldn't mind, but he put in participation grades _and_ a couple quizzes, and re-entering it would take his whole Friday night.

Not that he has big plans or anything. But he would like to be at home on his couch with some alcohol instead of in his classroom freaking out. 

He's trying to find all the quizzes he entered and get them back in some semblance of order before Raven shows up, just in case she can't help him, when Clarke and Octavia arrive.

"Bell?" Octavia asks.

She sounds concerned. Clarke sticks with, "Wow, you're a mess."

He's not sure he's ever been so relieved to see her. "Shit, hi, you're here, thank god. I accidentally deleted a bunch of grades, Raven's coming over to save me, but can you take O home? I'm really sorry, I'll buy you beer--"

"She was gonna come hang out with me anyway." Clarke comes over to check the computer, like she's pretending she knows more about this than he does. Neither of them are what anyone could call technologically competent. But he appreciates the thought. "Do you need us to help? Can we help?"

"Like I said, Raven's got it. Just take my sister and make sure she doesn't die?"

Octavia rolls her eyes. "You know I can take care of myself, right? She could just drop me off at home. I can survive unsupervised for days at a time."

It's really the last thing he wants to hear right now, and Clarke bumps against his shoulder, quick, brief comfort. "It's okay, Bellamy," she says. "I've got her."

"Thank you," he says without thinking.

She doesn't object, just smiles. "Don't worry about it. Focus on your grades. Which will be fine, because Raven is an actual genius. She'll--" 

It's stupid and impulsive, he knows that. She's just so close, and he's so profoundly grateful for her, for having someone he can rely on, who will take care of Octavia, who will take care of _him_. 

He loves her, and she's right there, and it's just so easy to tug her down and kiss her.

For the first second, it's a relief, and then for the second, it's terrifying. It gets good right after that, because Clarke makes a soft noise and presses back into him, her own hand cradling the side of his face, her mouth so warm and eager against his. She kisses him like she's been wanting it for just as long as he has, like she doesn't ever want to stop either.

He vaguely registers the sound of the door closing, which reminds him he's in his classroom, and his sister is here. Or just left, because he and Clarke are making out. Either way, this is really not a good place for this.

Which doesn't mean he stops _immediately_ , but he does it soon. 

Clarke's eyes flutter open slowly, and a smile blooms on her face, slow and perfect and beautiful.

She's totally going to say yes when he asks her out.

"Thanks," he says, purposeful this time. "I appreciate--I appreciate you."

"Yeah," she says, and clears her throat. "I'll bring her home after dinner, okay?"

"Cool."

"Good luck with your grades, that really sucks."

He's about to agree, but she bites her lip, thoughtful, and then she's kissing him again, which--god, why did he do this _at school_? With Octavia here? All he wants to do is kiss Clarke until he can't feel his lips.

Octavia coughs, and Clarke pulls back with a sheepish smile.

"Yeah, uh--" He's having trouble getting his brain back on track. "See you tonight," he finally settles on. "Raven can work wonders, probably. Eat vegetables, Octavia," he finishes. It's probably his least coherent, adult and helpful speech ever. He's just proud of himself for coming up with coherent sentences.

Thankfully, his sister likes him. "Thanks for the tip, Bell."

Raven arrives ten minutes after they leave, when he's still sitting in a semi-dazed stupor at his desk, staring at his ceiling and remembering the feel of Clarke's mouth on his.

"I was expecting you to be ripping your hair out," she says. "What if I can't fix this?"

"I kissed Clarke," he says. 

Raven snorts. "Congratulations. Took you long enough."

"Yeah, that's basically what I was expecting you to say. Still awesome for me, though," he adds.

"Good job finally getting your act together. You kissed her?"

"Yeah. Why?"

"Because I bet Wells you'd make the first move, so I win."

"Win what?"

"Bragging rights, mostly." She leans over his computer. "I assume you want me to fix this as soon as possible so you can go make out with her more."

"I think she and Octavia had plans. But, yeah, after that, ideally."

"Trust me, you've got nothing to worry about," Raven says, and for the first time in his entire life, he feels like that might really be _true_.

*

He spends his evening not texting Clarke, because Octavia was already planning to go home with her, which means she wanted to talk, and instead hanging out playing video games with the cat in his lap. It's a nice night, and he's only a little nervous about what happens when Clarke brings Octavia home.

She did kiss him back. And then kiss him again. In front of his sister, no less. It seems unlikely she's won't date him after all that. If nothing else, Octavia probably made fun of her about it. 

She lingers by the door when they come in, but Octavia has no such hesitance. She flops down next to Bellamy and starts patting Atalanta while he and Clarke fail to make eye contact.

Usually he's good with Clarke and uncomfortable with Octavia, not the other way around. The novelty's not as fun as he thought it might be.

"Did you get your grades fixed?" Octavia asks.

"Yeah," he says. "Did you have fun?"

"Yeah." There's a pause, and he's trying to figure out how to tell Clarke to come in and hang out given Octavia is here and doesn't want to witness this conversation when his sister picks up the slack for him. "Cool," she says, bright. "So, me and Atalanta are gonna go to my room and hang out, so neither of us has to witness something we can't unsee. Lock your door if you're gonna have sex. And don't forget condoms."

"Thanks for the tip," he says, giving Clarke a small smile that she returns. "You're a brat," he can't help adding. It's just--it's a good night. He finally feels like he's where he's supposed to be.

"Night, Bell," she says.

Clarke is taking off her coat and shoes, not looking at him again, but once he hears Octavia's door shutting, he can't wait. He traps her up against the door for a long kiss, and she laughs into it, fingers curling in his hair as she kisses back. He slides his hands up her sides, not quite exploring yet, just reveling in the ability to be close to her, to touch her as much as he wants.

"You're not even going to say hi to me?" she asks, laughing. "Just right to making out?"

"Hi," he says. He bumps his nose against hers. "I was going to ask you out tomorrow."

"Yeah, it's easy to say that _now_ ," she teases. "When you already jumped the gun and kissed me."

"I had this whole plan. Octavia's got plans tomorrow, so I was going to ask if you wanted to go out to dinner with me. At, like, two."

She buries her face against his neck, laughing again. She sounds so happy, he can't quite believe it. "Why two?"

"Because I didn't want to do it too early, but I couldn't wait much longer that that." He strokes his hand up and down her back. "Honestly, I was pretty sure if you said yes I was just going to drive over and--"

"Push me up against the door to make out?"

"For a start." He kisses her again. "You want to get dinner with me tomorrow?"

"Obviously," she says. "But I don't really want to leave tonight either."

"Oh," he says, mouth going a little dry, and to his surprise she flushes.

"Not that, you know. We don't have to--"

"Yeah, no," he says, laughing. "Please don't go home. I really, really want to get laid tonight." He swallows. "Just, uh--" He tucks her hair back behind her ear, smiling. "You know I'm totally in love with you, right? Like--for years."

"Yeah," she says. "That's what everyone told me." She doesn't kiss him this time, just holds on, face pressed against his neck. "I love you too. I don't _just_ want to have sex."

"Cool. I've got a lot of strings attached."

She bites his shoulder, but gently. "You act like I don't _know_. I like strings."

"I'm going to the bathroom!" Octavia yells, way too loudly. "Just in case anyone isn't wearing clothes!"

"Yeah, we're both definitely naked in the living room!" Bellamy yells back. He grins at Clarke, and she grins back. "Hey, you want to go make out in my room?"

"I want to do way more than make out in your room," she says, sliding her fingers into his and squeezing. "But we can start there."

She stays the night and the rest of Saturday, and he ends up making them dinner instead of taking her out anywhere, and when she finally leaves on Sunday morning, it's with a lingering kiss that makes him wish she'd never go.

But he probably needs to talk to his sister anyway.

She's in her room, working on her math homework, and he flops down on his back, staring at the ceiling.

"Cool?" he asks.

"Generally?"

"I know you wanted me to ask Clarke out, but I figured I should make sure you didn't change your mind as soon as I did it or anything. But you're still good?"

"I still like the person I've assumed was your girlfriend since literally the first time I saw her," says Octavia. "Don't be weird, Bell."

"I'm always weird," he says. He lets out a breath. "Sorry, I'm waiting for the catch. If it's not you, I don't know what it is."

"Catch?"

"My life is going really well right now."

"I want to make a giant batch of cookies so I can give some to Lincoln without making him suspicious. Is that enough to freak you out?"

He thinks about it. "Nope, still good. Anything worse?"

"Not yet, but I'll work on it." There's a pause. "I'm happy for you, Bell. It's--she's good for you."

"Yeah, she is. I'm not bad for her either."

"God, don't be stupid. You're great. She totally loves you. Oh, you have to get her something for Christmas. Stress about that. You guys only just started dating, lots of pressure."

"There we go. Thanks, Octavia."

It still catches a little in his mouth, her full name. She was always O for him. His baby sister.

So his life isn't _perfect_. It's just very close.

And then, on Christmas Eve, she says, "You could call me O again," and he actually thinks he imagined it. He couldn't have possibly heard right. 

"What?"

"I miss it. I told you to stop because I wanted to be mad at you, but--I never really wanted that. And I'm not. Mad. Not at you. You can adopt me. But--I don't need you to do that to know that you're not giving me up again. I get it, Bell. I'm not--I'm not scared."

There's a lump in his throat, and it feels like he might cry. His girlfriend is asleep on him, and his sister is by his side, and there's not a single thing in the world he wants. For the first time in his entire life, he is completely and utterly happy. And he's not always going to be _this_ happy, but he's going to have it as a baseline. He'll have Octavia--he'll _adopt_ Octavia--and he'll have Clarke, and he'll have a job he loves and friends and a stupid asshole of a cat.

He has everything he's ever wanted, and he's going to keep it.

"Okay," he says, breathes out, closes his eyes.

 _Okay_ is an understatement. But that's fine.

He's pretty sure she knows exactly what he means.


End file.
